


Keep the Wolves from the Door

by CeruleanHeart



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Corporate, Bathing/Washing, Billy Hargrove Being an Asshole, Blackmail, Businessmen, Dom Billy Hargrove, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Relationship, Hand Jobs, It's too late, Light BDSM, Love/Hate, M/M, Manipulation, Oops, Ownership, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Power Play, Sub Steve Harrington, and one with power too, sexual exploitation, you're in danger steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-05-26 14:18:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15002663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeruleanHeart/pseuds/CeruleanHeart
Summary: While Steve’s father is recovering from a heart attack the future of the Harrington’s company is threatened by a corporate raider’s hostile takeover.Now it’s up to Steve to convince them not to break apart the company and sell the pieces off for the highest profit. But when he storms into their head office he finds that none other than his high school nemesis Billy Hargrove is in charge now. Billy, it turns out, hasn’t come that far because he’s got a charitable nature and he will only forfeit his profit for the right price.What he wants is Steve.Billy gives him 24 hours to consider his immoral offer and say goodbye to his old life. Will Steve succumb and become Billy’s property to save his father’s business and all the employees depending on him? Does he even have a choice?





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've clicked this far I assume you've read the tags and saw the rating and you know what you're getting yourself into. 
> 
> The first chapter is harmless but the fic will go to some darker places so if that's not your cup of tea, now's your last chance to turn back. 
> 
> Everyone else, welcome to the rotten world of this Harringrove corporate AU. I hope you enjoy your stay. 
> 
> Also don't worry this chapter is the only one with extensive business mumbo-jumbo. There will be mostly smut after.
> 
> Title taken from the song "Wolves" by Rag n' Bone Man.

The seconds hand crawls over the dial of Steve's Jaeger-LeCoultre, slowly and steadily ticking away precious Swiss time. He wonders how much a second costs in New York. Steve's heard that everything has a price here.

Outside of the tinted windows of the limousine he can see the Manhattan skyline. The tops of the skyscrapers are shrouded in heavy grey clouds that look like they might burst open any time and drown the Big Apple with the next great flood.The view from Brooklyn Bridge is great but the fact that he's been enjoying it for the last 40 minutes has his skin itching with nervousness. It's the most important day of Steve's career and maybe even his life and he is stuck in traffic.

The collar of his dress shirt feels too stiff, too tight, he can barely breathe but he resists the urge to loosen the knot of his tie because he's afraid it might be the only thing holding him together right now.

In the 7 years he’s worked for his father this is his first solo business trip and if he doesn’t play his cards right, it will also be his last. It will be the last for anyone who works at his father’s company, or at least the last that matters.

Steve still thinks of it as his father’s company although technically it’s controlled by someone else for already more than a week now.

His eyes drop to the thing he's been fiddling with for the last few minutes. It's the business card of the man who seems hell-bent to destroy his life and that of their roughly 5000 employees.

For a while he stares at it like it has personally offended him. And in a way, it has.

The beautiful handmade paper feels smooth and velvety to the touch, it has a tasteful thickness with edges sharp enough to cut skin and is a subtle off-white with a hint of cream. Bone white, Steve thinks with a shudder. The ink of the letters has been stamped heavily into the surface, leaving a clean, striking impression that he can trace with his fingers. Steve doesn’t recognize the stately font but it has an air of graveness and importance to it that gives the whole thing more resemblance with a tombstone than a business card.

**_William A. Hargrove_ **

The letters on it say and give an address somewhere in New York as well as a telephone and fax number.

No title, no position. Very much like whoever has the privilege to receive a business card from Mr. Hargrove already knows exactly who he is dealing with and does not need any further reminders.

There is something about that name that makes it sound so strangely familiar. William A. Hargrove. William Hargrove. Hargrove… that rings a bell somewhere in the back of Steve’s head but he can’t exactly put a finger on it. Did he know someone with that name, a long time ago? A neighbour, maybe? Someone from college?

It doesn’t really matter, he certainly hasn't met  _this_  William A. Hargrove personally but he has done his homework. Or to be more precise his father’s assistant did it, gave him a recap of the man’s impressive vita.

Hargrove seemingly came out of nowhere, a nobody until a few years ago. That was when he managed to gain control over Aries & Fitch, a former distributor of artificial flavours and sweeteners, and immediately divested the company's core business. After that he transformed it into a holding company he now uses as an investment vehicle to execute takeovers of other companies. Aries & Fitch doesn’t produce or build anything anymore. They buy companies that are in financial trouble, strip them off their assets to sell them piece by piece to the highest bidder and then simply liquidate the rest.

At only 28 Hargrove is one of the worst corporate raiders out there and from what Steve has heard the bastard is making billions. And now for some reason, he’s come for their company by placing an insane tender offer of almost 5$ above market price per share. He's secured enough percentage of the stock that way, to rob Harrington Sr. and all his trusted board members of any control. A prime example of a hostile takeover.

Like a hyena Aries & Fitch attacked at a time when the company was at it's most vulnerable. Only a few days after Steve's father had been sent to the ER with a severe heart attack that was followed by a cardiac arrest.

So while Harrington Sr. was in a medically-induced coma, hooked up to tubes and wires and bleeping machines it was suddenly up to Steve to run board meetings and negotiations. Without any real experience in the business world he'd been incapable of convincing the major shareholders to reject the bid and hold on to their stock.

The men who had been friends and companions to his father, had no obligations at all to Steve and even less faith in his abilities and they'd left the sinking ship faster than rats.

But in the end he can only blame himself. In all those years before, he’d never been involved in any decisions, had been more than content with his role as the young face of the company, a PR blessing that shook hands and took pictures with politicians. It had suited him too well and in consequence rendered him defenseless.

And now, now he’s on his way to Aries & Fitch’s headquarters in a desperate attempt to turn things around, to salvage what’s salvageable. Even though he’s got nothing to offer Hargrove, except for a briefcase full of good intentions for a company that has been in the red for almost half a decade. He doesn't even have an appointment because the man refuses to return his calls.

If necessary, Steve will fight his way into the man's office. He's is not a coward and he’s fought battles with odds worse than this one. Back then when the end of the world almost happened in Hawkins.

If anything Steve Harrington is persistent. He won’t back down from demogorgons and he won’t back down from William A. Hargrove. If he can save a single job, it will all be worth it.

He crushes the business card between his hands and stares out of the window once more. They're moving again, Steve is coming, Aries & Fitch better be ready for him.

 

 

The office building he arrives at is tall and has a dark front that looms over all the other buildings on the street like an ominous shadow. It looks to Steve the way a polished boot must look to an ant. He doesn't bother to check in at the reception, simply waits for a wave of people going to the elevators and slips in amongst them. He feels like he's breaking in somewhere and his heart is hammering in his chest.

The elevator to the executive floor is crammed with office workers, clients and a delivery guy with a big parcel. Steve still finds the opportunity to check his reflection in the mirror. His shirt is a bit crumpled from the flight and the car ride but otherwise he looks pristine, with his dark hair gelled back and his English cut pinstripe suit that accentuates his lean body and is topped with polished oxfords. Steve is a perfect image of youth, style, taste and eloquence. He looks like he belongs here, he looks like a winner.

No one questions his presence and no one stops him, not even when has to ask around to find Hargrove’s office. By the time he finally makes it to the desk of the mans's secretary he feels eerily calm.

“Steve Harrington.” He introduces himself to the equally bored and attractive young woman, "I wish to see Mr. Hargrove."

Her brows shoot up at that and she gives him a critical look.

“Do you have an appointment?" She aks sounding slightly indignated.

"No. But I'm coming on behalf of a very important matter." he flashes her his best smile, the kind of smile that used to get all the Hawkins girls wet but it bounces off of her with not effect at all.

"Harrington?" she says, her pretty brows knitted into a small frown." "You've called before, haven't you?"

Steve has called at least 200 times but he's not going to point that out.

"Yes."

"Mr. Hargrove is a very busy man. You can't just waltz into his office whenever you please."

“So am I." Steve lies, but he knows his natural air of arrogance will make it believable. "Yet, I came all the way from Indiana. I’m not leaving. I’ll wait all day if I have to. Go ahead and tell him that."

The secretary looks even more annoyed by that prospect but much to his surprise she picks up the phone and dials a number.

“I’ll see what I can do.” She says with a fake sugary smile. “Take a seat in the lobby.” She gestures to a small seating area next to a wall of glass blocks and a couple of potted plants.

Steve takes a calming breath. He wants an appointment, not to make a scene so he grits out a “Thank you” and finds a seat next to a ficus.

The unfriendly secretary has a short conversation with someone on the other end of the line and then hangs up.

“Wait.” She shouts across the room and Steve nods, that's better than being turned away so he'll take it.

In the beginning he watches the double winged door that leads to Hargrove’s office and tries to burn holes into the dark wood with his eyes but after a while he turns his attention to the people coming and going. They’re an endless stream of suits, rushing in and out of the elevators and from and to the other offices on the floor. After a while they turn into a blur and Steve is starting to get a headache.

His watch keeps killing expensive seconds, then minutes and finally hours.

By three o’clock Steve returns to the secretary. She looks like she’s all but forgotten about him and when he asks about Hargrove she informs him that he’s out for lunch with clients and will maybe return around five.

Steve stomps off with anger in his gut to get some lunch of his own. He ends up in a diner that serves overpriced shitty sandwiches and even shittier coffee but he wolfs his food down anyway because the place is in viewing distance to the Aires & Fitch headquarters and he likes to keep an eye on the enemy.

He may be inexperienced and young but he’s not stupid. The secretary clearly is stalling, waiting for him to give up and go away. Steve suspects Hargrove instructed her that way and he's sick of letting him treat him like a dumb country bumpkin. But what choice does he have? He kills some time and then is back at her desk at exactly 1700.

She smiles her fake smile again and asks him to take a seat and wait a bit longer. Steve stays calm, he stays so very, very calm Ghandi would be proud of him.

“Mr. Hargrove is back in?” he asks in the sweetest, softest tone possible.

“Yes. But he’s in a meeting.”

“I see.” Steve’s smile is just as fake as hers “Thanks.”

And then he does what he should have done hours ago, simply because he’s a man with nothing to lose. He walks past her and towards the double winged door and ignores her angry screeching. She’s a skinny bitch and maybe five feet tall what is she going to do? Stop him? By the time security is here Steve will at least have seen the face of Hargrove the dirty bastard.

He pushes the door open with both hands, anger and anticipation boiling in his veins and then –

Freezes.

There’s a man on the other side of the room, casually leaning against the glass and chrome of a big, ultramodern writing desk. He's without the jacket of his suit, has the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up and is currently talking on the phone, completely unimpressed by Steve's grand entrance.

It’s a man Steve knows. A man he hasn’t seen in a little more than ten years.

He’s about Steve’s height but his physique is by far more impressive, his shoulders are wide, his arms look toned even underneath his sleeves and his thighs are so thick, he can see the bulge of their muscles through the fabric of his navy Italian suit. He’s got a face to match, with a prominent chin, a strong jawline and vigorous brows. The man’s eyes however are round and big, framed with dark lashes longer than a girl’s and they’re incredibly blue. His dark blond hair is clipped short on the sides but kept longer on the top where it’s combed back in soft waves. It used to be different, the last time Steve has seen him it fell down to his shoulders in a riot of messy curls.

The man on the other side of the room is no other than Billy Hargrove.

Billy fucking Hargrove, Steve’s personal high school nemesis. The boy who left Hawkins the moment he turned 18 and was never heard of again. For some reason Steve always assumed he was either dead or in jail. But this is worse. So much worse.

Billy puts the phone down and flashes Steve a bright toothy smile that’s both charming and intimidating, just the way he remembers it.

“Am I dreaming or is that you, Harrington?” he leers, his voice even deeper, richer than it used to be. It sounds like barbed wire wrapped in velvet.

A long time ago Steve had a comeback to that, a fairly good one too. But that time is so far away and he is so utterly shocked that he just stands there gaping like a goldfish.

The secretary arrives next to him flustered and out of breath.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Hargrove! He wouldn’t stop! Do you want me to call security?”

“No thanks, Claire. It’s fine. Be a doll, get Mr. Harrington some water. I’m sure he must be parched breathing through his mouth like this.”

She hurries off and finally, finally Steve has recovered enough to speak again.

“You’re William A. Hargrove?” he asks and sounds exactly as blindsided as he is.

“Always have been.” Billy beams. He sits down in the big black leather chair behind his desk and leans back. “Just like you have always been a man with terrible timing. But now that you’re here, why don’t you take a seat.”

He makes an offhand gesture towards the chairs in front of his desk, like he's a king holding court. And like a king he looks. Steve has a hard time digesting the sight, not just because the other man is dressed way better than him despite the missing jacket.

Billy’s always been objectively handsome and Steve remembers the guilty way he's sometimes admired his muscular body under the shower after practice all too well. Secretly, from the corner of his eyes, with a strange mix of envy and attraction. It's a memory he's tucked away somewhere deep inside his mind never to see the daylight again but it's brought back violently by the way Hargrove causally lounges in his chair. By the way he brings his hands up to slowly take off his tie and pop open the first buttons of his shirt.

Steve finds his gaze wander to the place where the column of his throat meets his collarbone for a second and jerks it right back to his face. That doesn't make things easier because time has been kind to Billy, defined his features like a sculptor would when he takes his chisle to marble. He's clean shaven, cleaner than Steve has ever seen him before and he's got a hard time not looking at his perfectly shaped red mouth.

"Harrington, are you just going to stand there and stare?" Billy drawls sounding all too aware of Steve’s attention "Because I haven't got all day, pretty boy."

A blush born half from anger, half from embarrassment about the effect Billy still has on him forms on Steve's cheeks at the sound of that old familiar nickname. But before he can come up with a reply Claire comes back with a tray that holds a small bottle of Evian and a glass. She puts it down on the big glass desk and gives Steve a scrutinizing look before she leaves again. He remembers his mission and hurries to follow Hargrove's invitation to sit down.

"Billy Hargrove..." he finally manages to say and shakes his head "It's been a long time. Can't say I expected you here."

"That it has." Billy grins. "And trust me, I'm a man full of surprises."

He looks relaxed, his eyes half lidded his smile lazy, like a resting predator that knows his prey cannot escape. It makes Steve wonder if this is about him, if Hargrove has lured him here on a personal agenda but that would be crazy. Wouldn't it?

"You've come a long way, I see." he replies stiffly because he simply can't think of anything better to say in this situation.

“Indeed, I have." there's the spark of something feral, something hungry in Billy's eyes "Now. How can I help you  _Steve_?”

The use of the first name, that lack of formality with a business partner is like a slap to the face, putting him firmly in place, making him feel just exactly how much of a beggar he is, knocking on Hargrove’s door. But it also brings him back to reality. Steve grits his teeth and tries to put on his best poker face.

“I want you to leave my company alone.” He says with as much haughtiness as he can muster and because there’s absolutely no reason to beat around the bush. Billy doesn't look like he's grown into a man who has time to loose and neither does Steve.

“Your company? That's a bit of an overstatement, considering that I own more than ten million shares." Billy gloats “The answer is no. I have big plans for your little enterprise.”

Hargrove’s last words are spoken with a mix of smugness and boredom that makes Steve want to punch his brilliant white teeth in.

“By big plans you mean to destroy it." Steve snaps, defiance burning hot in his veins. But he sounds by far more bitter than he intended to and hates himself for that unprofessional slip. He can't afford to make mistakes with Billy. That, he learned the hard way. "I've come with an offer to buy your stock back.” 

Hargrove leans back in his chair and snorts, the asshole.

“You know what I think? I think you came here to waste my time! We both know that your father mortgaged everything down to his underwear to secure that last loan from JP Morgan in.... ” He opens a manila folder on his desk and flips through it before continuing “... Febuary. You simply don’t have the money, Harrington.”

“I can find an investor.”

“No you can’t. Not when the breakup value is more than twice the market price. For me however, this deal finances itself." he leans forward, puts his elbows on the desk and folds his hands. "Besides, with the number of shares you still own you’ll get a generous slice of the pie. Enough to pay off all the debts and still maintain your standard of life for a while, that is unless… your father lives to cut your allowance.”

Steve decides to ignore that last blow below the belt. He’s too old to step into an open trap like that, if Hargrove thinks he hasn’t learned a thing or two since high school, he’s wrong.

“What about the people that work for us?” he asks instead because he’s here to make a case.

“What about them?” 

“They’ll lose their jobs, their income, maybe their homes. Do you know what the economy is like in Indiana?”

Billy huffs out a little laugh and shakes his head.

“You know what your one big flaw is, Harrington? What it always has been?” he asks, his tone mocking and condescending at the same time.

“I’ve got a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

“You’re sentimental. That’s why I’m going to eat you alive.”

“I… You… What!?” Steve stutters and his eyes go wide.

Billy smiles, unfolds his hands and drums them on the glass. There’s a dark, dark glow in his eyes as they drill into Steve’s.

“You want me to leave your company alone? Forfeit my profit? Maybe even invest in that burning pile of shit while I’m at it?”

“That’s… I… yes? I guess so?” Steve can feel his control over this situation slipping and he doesn't know how to stop it.

“Theoretically speaking, I could do that. Really, in comparison to the amount of money I move on a regular Thursday, that’s just peanuts. But nothing, absolutely nothing in this life is for free, do you hear me Harrington? I’m not the fucking Salvation Army. So let’s talk some real business.”

“I’m confused.” Steve might as well admit that because he's got no fucking idea what is going on anymore.

“Of course you are. What I’m saying is…” he idly lifts the top of a beautiful mahogany box next to the telephone and takes out a cigar, rolls it between his fingers, before he looks back at Steve. “I’ll give you what you want in exchange for the right price. Do you understand that?”

Steve closes his eyes, inhales a deep breath. Oh yes, sure. NOW he understands. This is the dirty part of the cooperate world, the part his father has never let him see. The part he’s used him as a cover for with his bright fresh, face and endearing smile. It’s ok though, he’s old enough to get some dirt underneath his nails, if this is how he earns his spurs, so be it.

“What do you want?” he says and meets Hargrove’s eyes again. His gaze hard, unwavering, Steve has made up his mind. Whatever the price, if he can, he’ll pay it.

Hargrove smiles, like he’s in no hurry at all to answer that question. He clips off the end of the fat Cuban cigar, lights it with a match, takes a deep drag and blows the smoke directly in Steve’s face. It’s a sharp sting in his eyes and his nose and he has to fight hard in order not to cough.

“I want you.”

The words hang in the room suspended in thin air for the fraction of a moment, before every single one of them falls down on Steve like the blade of a guillotine as realization hits him.

“You want me?” his palms are starting to sweat.

“Did I stutter?”

“You want me as in… you want me to work for you?” he sees a grin split Billy’s face, white and sharp like a surgical blade and he knows the answer. Knows, that Billy knows he knows. That he’s only embarrassing himself by playing dumb. He swallows hard, tries the foreign taste of the words he’s about to speak next on his tongue.

“Or… as in you want to sleep with me?” Steve’s heart is racing and his mouth is terribly dry. He takes a sip from the French mineral water Claire brought earlier with trembling hands in a useless effort to calm himself.

“No.” Hargrove sounds breathless with amusement as he gets up from his chair and walks around his desk in slow languid steps. And for a moment Steve’s heart leaps at the idea that this might be a misunderstanding, that he’s not being asked to offer himself up on a silver plate.

But then Billy comes to a halt in front of Steve and leans against the glass top of the desk, crossing one leg over the other looming over him. His blue eyes rake over Steve's body, cold, calculating and there is that smile still tugging on one corner of his mouth, completely void of any sympathy. Steve has never felt as naked and vulnerable in his entire life.

When Hargrove speaks again his voice is a low, dangerous purr.

“I want you as in…” he leans forward into Steve’s space transfixing him with his steely gaze “… _I want to own you_ , Harrington.”

Hargrove brings down both hands on each armrest of Steve's chair, effectively caging him in, making him shrink back in his seat. When Billy moves he can see the bulge of his muscles working under the formal wear, the layers of the fine fabric stretching around his biceps and his wide chest. It’s both intimidating and incredibly hot. Steve feels a tingle of arousal in his belly that definitely doesn’t belong there.

“I want to own you like a pretty thing.” Billy continues, the words a deep rumble that raises goosebumps on Steve's skin, his moist breath like the lingering ghost of an invisible touch. “And I want to have you whenever I please, as many times as I please until I get tired of you.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, you're in trouble Steve! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! And sorry for the gratuitous business talk in this chapter. I go to fingerpainting college not Harvard business school. But I tried my best with the research and hope everything was understandable. 
> 
> Please let me know how you liked it! I'm ultra nervous because this is my first AU!
> 
> Also I've made a moodboard for this fic you can find on my [tumblr](https://highon85.tumblr.com/post/175125718546/keep-the-wolves-from-the-door-harringrove)! (another first time for me X'D)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve struggles. But to no avail.

Billy’s words ring in Steve’s ears like a distant thunder. They seem abstract, a faraway thread that hasn’t quite reached him yet. But the tension between them is tangible, a crackling static. Electric.  
  
Steve knows he’s got to fight if he wants to survive this.  
  
But he’s sitting here. Hardly breathing and Hargrove too is still, so incredibly still he's not moving an inch, doesn't even touch him. Instead he holds Steve prisoner with his eyes alone. He can’t believe he’s forgotten how blue they are, how crystalline, made for no other purpose than cutting Steve apart.  
  
But he finds strength in the fact that he’s able to withstand those eyes, to hold their icy gaze. He finds confidence there, enough to clench his fists so hard his knuckles crack, enough to rediscover his anger about the sheer insolence of Hargrove’s proposal.  
  
“That’s crazy.” He huffs, finally “Absolutely crazy. You can’t be serious.”  
  
Billy’s eyes light up at that and for the fraction of a second, Steve sees the infernal fire he knows from their High School days in them. The kind of fire that lights in Billy when he senses a challenge, always one to appreciate a nice dose of antagonism.  
  
 “Crazy?” Hargrove sneers “How so?“  
  
That cocksure smile is back on his face but if Steve has managed to break his façade even only for a moment, it must mean he’s gaining ground. So he leans forward with renewed courage, invades Billy’s space the way he’s invaded his. Their faces are so close now, they’re basically breathing the same air. Steve can taste the rich flavour of the cigar on Billy’s lips without touching them.  
  
 “You cannot own a person. There’s an ugly word for that.” He says, clenching his jaw hard around every single word he utters. Making them count.  
  
Billy’s eyes fall to his mouth and linger there, contemplating. When his tongue flicks out to wet his own lips, it almost brushes Steve’s.  
  
“I can.” He purrs “And I will. Do you want to know why?”  
  
“Tell me.”  Steve’s heart is beating with the rhythm of a war drum. He makes to rise from his chair in defiance, to push Hargrove back by the power of his will alone.  
  
But as he moves so does Billy. He lifts his dominant hand off the armrest and sets it flat against Steve’s collarbone his palm resting below it, his thick fingers splaying over his shoulder and the side of his neck and his thumb pressing into the dip of his jugular notch below his tie. There is hardly any real force to the touch but Steve’s whole body quakes from it, goes soft, goes pliant, slumps back into the chair. It’s pure reflex, muscle memory reliving the very last time Billy has touched him, the way his fists had kissed his face then. The night the gate closed.  
  
Steve hasn’t been weak since then, he hasn’t been vulnerable and he’s not going to start now. He’s come too far.  
  
“Fucking tell me, Hargrove.” He repeats his voice vibrating with ire, ignited by the scorching weight of Billy’s hand. “Fill me in.”  
  
“Because you came to me.” Billy replies almost gently, his words are an intimate hush that stokes the heat under Steve’s skin. “On your own free will. You lost this game the moment you rushed into my office. I’m giving you a choice but that is the only option you will pick.”  
  
Billy’s thumb inches up presses against his throat just hard enough to dig painfully into Steve’s Adam’s apple when he swallows.  
  
“Blackmailing someone is not giving them a choice, Hargrove. You’re holding more than 5000 people hostage.” Steve ignores the pain and feels his belly being filled with stone cold rage instead.  
  
“Only because you're letting me. In reality neither of us is profiting from keeping that sorry little company alive. It’s going to cost both of us so much more than it is worth. So if you want me to humour your sentiments, you’ll give me what I’m asking for. It’s very easy, Harrington.” The pressure of the thumb turns into something else, a soothing caress that feels just as wrong as his words.  
  
Steve wants to argue with Billy’s twisted logic wants to tell him about values and responsibility but somewhere in his heart he knows the other man is right. He knows that those are just pretty lies made up to keep the gullible in line. He’s been one of them until the point when the shareholders turned their back on him and made him into Hargrove’s willing prey.  
  
“You’re a cold hearted motherfucker, you know that?” Steve grits out and there is something frightening about that realization.  
  
The Billy he remembers was a spitfire of teenage rage and hormones, wild and unhinged bordering on psychotic. This man in front of him is calmer, controlled, almost terrifyingly cold but if anything that makes him more dangerous. If Hargrove has managed to channel his destructive energy into something more efficient it's no wonder he's become unstoppable.  
  
“That’s my profession, sweetheart.” Billy smiles and finally, finally lets Steve go and leans back against the desk once more to take another drag from his cigar.  
  
His grin as the smoke spills slowly from his mouth is nothing short of victorious. It makes Steve painfully aware of the fact that he hasn’t actually said no yet, that somehow he missed a chance when he didn’t immediately reject Billy’s crazy proposition.  
  
“I don’t… What is it that you expect from me? You want me to stay with you and be your…” Steve can’t say it, he can’t say the words  _sex slave_ even though they ring in his head like a shrill siren but the thought is too indecent to speak it out loud. So instead he says “… property or something? That’s just…”  
  
“I have told you…” Billy interrupts him, sounding bored again “…EXACTLY what I want and what I’ll give you for it. But if your wellbeing is what you’re worried about, let me assure you that I treat all my precious things with great care.”  
  
“Your things.” Billy had used that word before, like Steve is an object. It makes him go almost breathless with dread.  
  
“My things.”  
  
“I can’t believe I’m listening to you.” Steve’s voice is hardly more than a whisper now.  
  
“Yet, you are.” Billy’s hooded eyes grow dark, his smile carnivorous. There is no doubt he will devour Steve if he gets the chance. He needs to run, now.

“You’re a very sick man, Hargrove. I’m leaving.” Steve gets up, straightens his suit and glares at Billy. But he isn’t leaving. He’s still glued to the spot, his bluff clear as day.  
  
“Then go. I’m not stopping you, it’s your decision.” Billy sucks on his cigar again, unimpressed by Steve’s little threat.

For a while they simply stare at each other, Billy relaxed and at ease savouring his cigar and Steve tense like a bowstring, vibrating with the urge to get out, to save himself but unable to go through with it. The knuckles of his hand, clutching the handle of his briefcase stand out stark white as he struggles to come up with an answer.

“I need time to think about it.” He says after what feels like a small eternity and the words taste a lot like defeat.  
  
“Time is money.” Billy sighs and shakes his head, eyes amused. “Something, you unfortunately don't have. “  
  
“I'm aware of that.”  
  
“How about you stop asking for charity then and show some goodwill for a change? Maybe get down on your knees right now, put those pretty lips to good use, beg me real nice. Then I might consider giving you more time.”  
  
Hargrove lifts his hand from where it rested on the glass desk and it brushes his crotch before it slides up to tuck at his belt buckle once, making clear what exactly he considers a good use for Steve's lips. His stomach clenches and Steve feels his cheeks burn, when his eyes follow the movement and are forced to take in the size and shape of Billy’s bulge. The fact that they used to shower together after practice and have seen each other naked makes it impossible not to think of the thick, heavy cock resting between Hargrove’s thighs.  
  
“I could sue you, you know. For blackmail _and_ sexual harassment.” he says weakly, his whole body trembling and the heat from his cheeks spreading down his neck and chest.  
  
“Don't try me, Harrington. You can’t afford it.”  
  
It’s true. Steve knows it’s true. And he came here to beg even before he knew he’d be at Billy’s mercy, of all people. Keeping his ego intact isn’t going to save any jobs. He takes a deep breath.  
  
“Please, Billy.” never have any words been harder to say for Steve than these. Hargrove however, doesn’t reward his struggle.

“Can't remember we’re on a first name basis.” He shows his teeth in a nasty grin “Try again.”  
  
“Hargrove...” Steve’s voice is shaking from the strain to remain calm.  
  
“Come on you can do better.” Billy coaxes.  
  
Steve licks his lips nervously; breaking out in a sweat again.  
  
“I'm not sucking your dick.” He blurts, cornered and distraught.  
  
“We'll have time for that later. How about you ask me real polite and sweet now, pretty boy? Be good, I know you can do it. Woo me.”

Steve’s breath is coming hard and quick now. He can’t look into Billy’s face, when he says his next words, casts his head down in shame and embarrassment.

“Mr. Hargrove I'm begging you.” He whispers, his throat tight and when Billy doesn’t react he adds “Please, sir.”  
  
Hargrove’s laugh is soft but humourless. Steve hears the fabric of his clothes rustle as he straightens and takes a step towards him. A large, rough hand cups his chin and forces it up so he looks into Hargrove’s eyes again.  
  
“See, that's more like it.” Billy murmurs. He lets Steve’s chin go and instead picks up the wide end of his tie.

It’s almost impossible not to flinch but that would mean admitting weakness so Steve stands still and stiff but not without sucking in a sharp breath as he watches the other man play with the silk around his neck.

“24 hours.” Hargrove finally says, he takes the knot of Steve’s tie between his fingers and pushes it upwards while giving the end a harsh tug, pulling it tight so that Steve almost chokes. Then he glances at his watch. "It's now 5:37pm. I expect your answer in person by the same time tomorrow. Be a minute late and the offer is off the table.”  
  
Billy runs his big hand down the length of the tie smoothing it over Steve's chest. He truly wishes he'd put on more layers this morning, but it’s a warm day in June and now he feels the pad of Hargrove’s middle finger brush the sensitive skin of his left areola ever so slightly. It really, really shouldn’t turn him on the way it does.

He swallows thickly and opens his mouth to reply, to protest that 24 hours aren’t by far long enough to make a decision like that but Hargrove interrupts him before he can speak.

“Go now, before I change my mind.” He says and gives Steve a light push so he stumbles back a step “Make sure you sort your shit out before you come back. Claire will give you instructions were to meet me.”

He sounds like things are settled already, like Steve really doesn’t have a choice. He wants to scream but instead he turns around without another word and marches out of Hargrove’s office. Silence is the only way he can think of to save his face.

Steve can feel Billy’s eyes on his back even after the door of his office closes with a loud click behind him. He knows, fucking knows with absolute certainty that Hargrove is still smiling.

The secretary is already on the phone and hands Steve a note with a sour face, when he passes by her desk. There’s an address on 5th avenue scrawled on it and nothing else.  
  
  
Steve is in a strange haze. He feels a little bit like he is underwater, the sounds and lights seem duller, his limbs are weightless but moving them puts a strange strain on them, he can’t breathe properly. He gets swept along with the stream of suits going to the elevators and then lets his body get washed out of the it again into the lobby and finally out of the revolving doors with the swarm, hardly moving on his own carried by the sheer mass of the office workers’ uniformed bodies.  
  
Only when he’s outside does he feel like he’s surfacing again, filling his lungs with real oxygen. He stands there for a few minutes doing nothing but leaning his head back and watching the heavy clouds slowly drifting by between the skyscrapers. The air tastes of rain.  
  
The paper of the note is a weight on his fingers that reminds him of the mess he’s managed to get himself into. A part of him just wants to let his anger win and rip it apart. Get rid of the evidence of his humiliation and forget about the whole deal. Go home, back to Hawkins where he’s safe from people like Hargrove. But that’s an illusion of course, because there’s no place where he’s safe from him and if he lets him destroy the company there will be not much left to come home to.  
  
It’s not only about the people that work directly for them. If the Harringtons go out of business so will their subcontractors, their suppliers and everyone who makes a living from the salary of those people, shop owners, service providers and the list goes on. It would be a chain reaction of a dramatic scale.  
  
There’s a ticket in Steve’s briefcase for the 7:50pm TWA flight to Indianapolis. It’s the only thing he’s brought with him apart from the clothes he’s wearing and the documents he thought he’d need. He’s by no means prepared to spend a night in New York, let alone spend what, forever, with Billy Hargrove.  
  
He can still make that flight. All he has to do is hail a cab and go back to JFK airport. He’s sure no one would blame him. He tried his best, even if that wasn’t enough. He can still run.  
  
Steve does hail a cab. But he lets it take him to the nearest Holiday Inn instead.  


  
24 hours sound long. But they're not. Steve bats his eye once and one hour is already gone. Making calls, cancelling all his appointments for the next week takes away the remainder of the early evening. He showers, eats a meal and the evening has turned into night time.  
  
For a while he tries not to think. He doesn't trust himself anymore. Not with how he reacted to Hargrove this afternoon. How he'd let himself being played and coaxed into a situation he doesn't know how to handle.

The hotel room he's staying in is clean and impersonal, the way all hotel rooms are. His window is looking out on the busy street. For a while, Steve watches the cars go by.  
  
He feels so helpless. Steve knows he’s no match for Hargrove and his perfidious schemes. Hell, his dad had to sponsor a new wing for the library to get him into the college of his choice and even then, he barely made it. No matter how hard he tries, he’s never smart enough, he’s too fucking dumb. Maybe he isn’t meant to be anything but a pretty trophy, be it his dad’s or Hargrove’s.  
  
If Billy wants him like… that… does that mean he’s... what? Bisexual? Gay? Or is this some kind of sick power play? A step up from the game they used to play in High School? An escalation of Billy’s strange obsession with him?  
  
Yes, Steve remembers the looks Billy used to give him, heated and intense not once wavering. He remembers the way he always found a reason to engage physical contact, grinding against him during practice, pushing him, taunting him, the way he never quite could keep his hands off of him in the shared shower. He also remembers what that did to him during the short time it lasted, how Billy managed to get under his skin, how that same skin had tingled and his breath had stuttered when he manhandled him and gave him that knowing little smile. Like he knew something about Steve that he himself didn't.  
  
After Billy had hurt him at the Byer’s house he’d never touched him again, not even for a handshake, he had never called him pretty boy again. But his eyes, his eyes didn’t stop scorching Steve until the day he disappeared. They’d left a permanent burn mark on his soul even though they’d only known each other for bit less than a year.  
  
Steve thinks about Billy’s demeanour today, what it had felt like to feel his hands on him again, how the touch still lingers.  
  
If he gives in, gives himself up, there’s absolutely no way he’s getting out of this unharmed. There is not a single sane scenario of how things could play out. No one with a functioning instinct of self-preservation would even contemplate Hargrove’s offer. Then again… Steve can’t even remember the last time he truly cared about himself. Apart from that, the flight home has long left and he didn't buy a new ticket.  
  
Steve doesn’t sleep. He tries to drag out this last day of autonomy as long as he can. He finds a bar and has a drink, flirts with a beautiful woman but throws her number away later, he buys some silly souvenirs because Dustin asked him to and ships them when the post office opens again. He makes a few more calls and when he talks to his mom he learns that his dad is finally getting better. People are grateful, when he tells them he’s working out a deal with Aries & Fitch. They say they always believed in him and Steve is almost ready to swallow that lie. It’s a nice gesture and almost worth the price he’s paying.

The last hours, he’s simply killing time. 6 hours are nothing. They turn into 40 minutes faster than Steve can blink and suddenly he’s in a cab with the meter ticking just as mercilessly as his watch, counting negative time.

This afternoon the sky has finally opened up and releases its burden over Manhattan. The rain on the roof and on the windshield is a steady drum in Steve’s ears, the water forming small rivers streaming down the glass of the windows, slicing the outside world into small strips.  
  
“Why aren’t we moving?” he asks the cabby when 40 minutes have turned into 16.  
  
“It’s the evening rush hour and we’re on 5th avenue. It’s not my fault you have to go to the Plaza at the worst time of the day.” he replies with typical New York charm.  
  
Steve had assumed the address he was given was maybe Billy’s private one but instead he’s being summoned to a luxury hotel. Like a fancy escort.  
  
He's got 15 minutes left now. _Be a minute late…_ Steve is pretty sure Hargrove was dead serious about that.  
  
"How far away are we?" he asks, feeling panic rising in his throat.  
  
"It's just a few blocks from here."  
  
“Which way?”  
  
“Straight ahead down the street, why are you…?”  
  
Steve is already pulling money from his wallet and throws it at the driver.  
  
“Thank you so much!” he yells over the thrumming of the rain and the traffic noises as he opens the door and steps out on the street. The fat raindrops start soaking him immediately and of course Steve doesn’t have an umbrella. He didn’t even bring a second pair of socks, goddammit.  
  
"Are you crazy? It's pouring!" the cabby shouts after him but Steve doesn’t stop as he’s weaving between the stalled cars and makes his way to the sidewalk.  
  
He’s got 13 minutes. Steve starts running.  
  
The rain is coming down so hard, he can hardly see. There's water everywhere, it's almost like swimming. It's getting in his eyes, his nose, his shoes and it runs down the back of his collar and follows his spine in small rivulets as he sprints down the street.  
  
It feels like he's not gaining ground at all, an endless stretch of pavement unfolding in front of him, facades that all look the same passing by. But just when he thinks he’s not gonna make it, he’ll just fall and drown in a puddle, there's a buildings that looks more like a castle and is adorned with flags coming up ahead. The Plaza truly lives up to its name. Steve almost bumps into one of the doormen on his way through the big golden revolving door.  
  
When he stumbles into the lobby of the Plaza he' drenched to the skin, dripping on the marble floor. His hair is clinging to his face and neck and he is panting so hard, he feels like his lungs might explode.  
For a moment he’s almost blinded by all the luxury. The chandeliers, the gold, the stucco, the crystal mirrors evoke the splendour of a century passed.

Steve has stayed in fancy hotels before but this right here… it’s almost too much.

He starts looking around, frantically scanning the lobby for a sign of Billy but the only people around are other guests, staring at him. There’s a puddle forming around his feet so before it can get too big he hurries to the reception. There are 8 minutes left.

The clerk behind the desk is professional enough to only give him a small frown and not point out that he’s still dripping everywhere.

“Welcome to the Plaza how may I help you, Sir?” he greets him with a stiff upper lip.

“My name’s Harrington. I have an appointment with one Mr. Hargrove.” Steve pants close to panicking, 6 minutes “But I can’t see him anywhere, maybe he left a message for me?”

“Oh yes, Mr. Harrington. Mr. Hargrove is expecting you in the Royal Suite. If you would like to freshen up a little before going up, our facilities are….”

“Thanks!” Steve interrupts him “But I’m really in a hurry.”

“Certainly. Let me escort you to the elevator.”

Steve scurries closely behind the clerk as they cross the big lobby again. He’s taken to a private elevator that is activated with a key the hotel employee brought with him. At least Steve doesn’t have to wait for it, the 4 minutes he has left surely wouldn’t be enough.

There’s only a single button and the clerk presses it for him before stepping out from the elevator again.

“The Royal suite has private access.” He says with a polite smile as the doors are starting to close. “Enjoy your stay at the Plaza.”

And then Steve is going up. The elevator is so fast, he feels pressure building in his ear and then pop, when he arrives with a small ting. The doors open up into a room that’s the very definition of the word “lavish”. More gold, more stucco, more fucking chandeliers, Steve might as well have stepped into Rockefeller’s living room but the man idly lounging in a chair on the other end of it, a glass of amber liquid in one hand is Billy.

“Darling,” he says with a smirk when he sees Steve’s drenched form “you’re wet.”

“It’s raining.” Steve replies dumbly, momentarily stripped off of all his wit as he steps out of the elevator. He’s exhausted, he’s wet, he’s getting cold and Billy has never looked more smug.

“Well, I’m glad you could make it.” Billy sets his glass down and gets up, saunters towards Steve with a greedy look on his face.

When he comes to a halt in front of him, his eyes settle on Steve’s chest and it occurs to him then, that his white dress shirt must be completely transparent from the rain. He can feel his nipples peaked from the cold pressing against the wet cotton. With the way the jacket of his suit has almost slipped from his shoulders during his sprint, they’re in full view now.

“That’s not a bad look on you, Harrington.” Billy comments and his tongue darts out, pink and slick wetting his lips wolfish and hungry.

Steve tries to ignore it.

“I’ve come to tell you about my decision.” He rasps, desperately trying not to drown in the raging ocean of Billy’s eyes.

“I already know your decision.” Hargrove chuckles “You’re here. You fought the elements for me. It’s alright now, Harrington. You’re mine.”

Steve knows then, that he’s fucked. He visibly shivers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out by far more plotty than I originally planned but I really felt like I had to let the story unravel a little more to give it more depth. Also, dialogue!!!! I'm so sorry, we haven't gotten to the smutty part yet but I promise... next chapter is going to be hot! Please hang on!
> 
> I hope you still enjoyed this chapter. Thanks for reading! As always I'd love to know what you think. ^^
> 
> Also, thank you so much for the great response to the first chapter! I appreciate it so much! You guys are so supportive and awesome!! ♥
> 
> Moodboard for this fic and my tumblr account can be found here[highon85](https://highon85.tumblr.com/post/175125718546/keep-the-wolves-from-the-door-harringrove)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, you guys I'm really bad at tagging but I'm trying my best with this fic. So if you think I missed some vital tags or warnings, please, please, please let me know so I can fix it!!!
> 
> Furthermore, this chapter is unbetaed but put through Grammarly and another spellchecker so that's all I can do because I'll die if I don't finally post it. That's all for now, please enjoy!

Billy's eyes never seem to miss a detail and they light up with a vicious kind of mirth as he watches Steve's body shake.

"I'm forgetting my manners. Please come in." He smirks and claps one hand on the back of Steve's shoulder to navigate him out of the entrance with gentle pressure. Far too exhausted and out of breath to do anything about it, Steve allows it without protest.

Hargrove's palm, open against his shoulder blade, is warm and steady and Steve instantly misses a step when he loses its support after Billy takes it away a few strides into the living room. The extortion of his run down 5th Avenue finally catches up to him as he staggers after Hargrove with squelching shoes. His legs too heavy and awkward to function properly, he desperately tries to catch his breath and will away the frantic pounding of his heart in his ears.

Steve's first thought when he comes into the room is that whoever named it the Royal Suite, was very serious about replicating the grandeur of what assumedly is the Plaza's idea of aristocratic taste. From the imported antique furniture to the heavy silk drapes and the red marble fireplace to the grand piano by the window, everything is set up to work as an ambassador of obscene wealth. But the gold and ivory splendor is truly wasted on Steve, he's by far too busy with eying Hargrove's broad back to appreciate it. The man moves with the confidence of someone who just won a trophy. A trophy named Steve Harrington.

"Can I offer you a drink?" Billy opens the doors of a gold-plated Louis XIV cabinet and takes out a glass and a crystal carafe with the same amber content that is inside his nearly empty tumbler on the coffee table. He holds it up in question.

Steve doesn't want a fucking drink. He wants to go home and sleep for a million years. Even more than that, he wants to get as far away from Hargrove as possible or alternatively push him out of the window for being such a suave fucker.

"No thanks, I'm good."

"Suit yourself." Billy uses a silver tong to take a few big ice cubes from a cooler and put them in the glass, he proceeds to pour himself a fresh drink without hurry while Steve just stands there, his face and his head hot but his body growing colder by the minute. It's a strange sensation being trapped somewhere between burning alive and freezing to death.

Steve wants to say something, to break the heavy, tension-filled silence that has fallen between them.  He's a man of action and waiting for someone else to take charge of him in every sense of the word doesn't sit well with him. But every time he starts a train of thoughts to form a coherent sentence, he's interrupted by his own mind.

 _You're mine_ , Billy's words whisper inside his head. _Mine, mine, mine_ , and somehow they bind his tongue like a spell.

"Why don't you make yourself at home?" Hargrove's voice startles Steve who didn't realize he had been lost in thoughts for a moment.

He quite honestly wants nothing more than to make himself at home and take off his soaked, heavy jacked and water-filled shoes but he isn't quite ready to lose any clothing around Billy and his ravaging eyes yet, so he settles for a half-hearted attempt to rearrange his suit and finds a seat on the nearest couch. He's pretty sure he'll leave a damp spot on the chartreuse colored velvet but if Billy will have to pay for ruined furniture that's only going to make Steve's day better.

Hargrove returns from the house bar and settles in an armchair next to Steve. He's dressed more formally today in a 3 piece anthracite suit with wide lapels, a black dress shirt, and perfectly mirror-shined shoes. When he moves Steve can see a tastefully subtle diamond pin glitter in his crimson tie. He's pretty sure if the Devil himself rose to the surface of the earth to spend a night out in New York, that's the exact outfit he would pick. Meanwhile, Steve looks like he's slept under a bridge and if Billy's calm, yet amused gaze is a giveaway, he revels in his opposite's disheveled appearance.

They sit in silence for a few moments staring each other down, Steve with open reproach and Billy like a panther, ready to pounce.

Steve is positively freezing now. It's warm and humid outside despite the rain but the thermostat of the hotel room must be set to lower than 65F°. The wet fabric of his suit and shirt clings to his skin like an ice blanket, cold seeping through is flesh and into his bones. It doesn't help that he's tired, basically dead on his feet. He has to forcefully suppress another shiver.

Billy however completely ignores his obvious unease and leisurely sips his drink. It feels like it takes forever for him to break the silence even though not more than a few minutes can have passed.

"I have something for you."

Steve clears his throat, suddenly a million times more nervous than before.

"For me?" he croaks.

Hargrove smiles that lazy, dark smile that Steve knows is always both a promise and a thread. His heart, which had finally settled back to a normal rhythm, starts pounding again, heavy and painful in his chest as he watches Billy pull out a document map from the second tier of the coffee table.

He produces two documents one thick and spiral-bound, the other a number of pages held together by a paperclip and sets them down on the glass surface. For a moment, Steve is frozen with a mix of surprise and dread but then his curiosity kicks in and he lifts the cover of the thick one. He is greeted by two words printed in bold letters on the first page.

"Strategic Plan?" he gasps, honestly astounded.

"Seven steps to save your company, as promised.  I'll put this in effect once you sign the other one."

Things to sign are rarely good news but Steve bravely picks up the other document and reads the first paragraphs of what is obviously an elaborate contract. The content almost punches the air out of his lungs.

"What is this?!"

"A contract, sweetheart."

"I can read, Hargrove." Steve doesn't even bother to react to the terms of endearment Billy keeps throwing at him like insults, he's by far too agitated by what he just saw. "But this part right here says ‘unilateral agreement of non-disclosure.' That means I'll be legally bound to shut up about everything that happens between us… and only I."

"Correct. No hard feelings, Harrington, but I clearly have more to lose here." Hargrove treats himself to another sip of his drink.

"You must be out of your mind to think I'd sign that. I'm not giving you a wildcard to do anything you want with me!" Steve is righteously outraged by Billy's impertinence.

"Isn't that what you're here for?"

"Absolutely not! I thought I came here to negotiate."

Billy's smile appears to be a permanent fixture on his face that only ever changes to show various forms of malice. The one it has now is especially venomous.

"We were done negotiating when you left my office."

"Maybe you were done!! But I wasn't!" Steve bristles.

"What will it take to get it through to you, precious?" Billy flashes his razor-sharp teeth at Steve and swirls the drink in his glass with a flick of his wrist, making the ice cubes in it clink softly.  He cocks his head in a mockery of contemplation before he continues. "You know, I have a buyer for that plant in Fort Wayne who's ready to wire me the money yesterday. Prime real estate, Harrington. They'll level the factory and build some nice luxury condos on the premises."

Steve can see it in front of his inner eye, bulldozers tearing down the aged factory that has employed workers for generations, only to give way to some fancy apartments for a bunch of sushi-eating yuppies. For a moment he thinks he's going to be sick, he closes his eyes and inhales sharply through his nose.

"Fuck you." Steve sighs when he has regained his composure. "Seriously, fuck you, you absolute bastard. Fine, I'll sign your damn contract but I do have a few conditions as well."

"Hm, do you? What makes you think you're in a position to afford those?"

"For God's sake! You have to give me _something_ , Hargrove."

"I'm giving you a lot, Harrington. So far I have treated you with nothing but generosity. I've gone through so much trouble for you. I've halted all transactions concerning your little enterprise, I had an entire team draw up that business plan for you and I pulled my lawyer out of a vacation in Florida to prepare that contract. I went out of my way to take this evening off and invite you here as my special guest and… I even offered you a drink." He salutes Steve with his own and takes a slow sip before he continues "But I'll tell you what, if you promise to be good, princess, I'll _buy_ you anything you want."

"That's…. that's not what I mean." Steve blushes furiously at the mere implication in Billy's last words "Come on, you know that. Stop messing around for a minute."

Billy grins, the tip of his tongue flashing between his teeth and damn it, that tongue is absolutely the last thing Steve wants to think about right now.

"I admit it's cute that you're trying to play hard to get but right now you're just making your own life difficult."

Steve knows when he has lost even though he's someone who normally would never accept it. But he can't handle this anymore, he's too tired for Billy's twisted games. He slumps over and buries his face in his hands, rubs his eyes and whispers softly "You're merciless."

What he expects for an answer is another jibe, but what he gets is Hargrove shifting in his chair until he's close enough to Steve so he can feel his breath tickle the damp skin of his neck and a drop of his voice to a low, velvety hush. "What are you so scared of?"

"To be honest? You." Steve groans into his palms. It's blunt but it's true. No more games for Steve. No more.

Billy's laugh is soft and barely audible but also incredibly pleased.

"You're overthinking things, Harrington." He says and this time he sounds almost gentle.

"Am I?"

"Why would I harm you pretty boy, when I can enjoy you?"

Something flips inside Steve's stomach at those words, he can feel goosebumps breaking out all over his skin so fast and so hard it hurts. Steve lifts his head from his hand and blinks at him. Hargrove's face is close enough that he can see the shadow of the 5 ‘o clock stubble on his strong chin.

"Enjoy me." Steve's mouth is so dry he doesn't know how he gets his tongue to work "Until you get tired of me."

"Until then and not a day longer."

"And after that, you'll still leave my company intact?"

"That's the deal." Billy flips a page of the contract and points at a paragraph. "See, If you leave upon my dismissal, you have my guarantee that no actions to the demerit of the company's integrity or the employees will be taken."

Steve swallows with a loud click. This is it, this is his final capitulation. 

"Give me a pen."

Billy pulls a Montblanc fountain pen from his inner pocket and hands it to Steve. The deep black barrel, where he grips it to write is warm from Hargrove's body heat on his clammy fingers.

Steve sings the contract, feels the scratch of the gold nib on the paper run up his arm. _This is what it feels like_ , he thinks, _to sign your life away_. When he's done he sets it down on the glass top of the coffee table with a loud clack. At that moment, all the tension seems to drain from his mind and his body, everything that has held him together until now simply dissolves and leaves nothing but the cold and the exhaustion.

"D.. done."

Steve's teeth start to chatter as he opens his mouth to let that one word out and he clenches his jaw immediately in an attempt to suppress it but that only results in another violent full body shiver.

Hargrove gives him a look like he pretends to only just now notice that Steve is freezing his ass off in the refrigerated suite. His face softens into an expression of concern that is almost convincing and he bats his pretty eyes at him.

"Oh my, will you look at that. You're shaking." He purrs and reaches over to gently cup Steve's face. His first instinct is to recoil from it but Billy's hand is so warm and the touch so unexpectedly comforting and pleasant that he practically melts into it, seeking the heat his body is losing rapidly.

"You're ice cold and you're lips are all blue..." Hargrove murmurs his thumb slowly, carefully tracing the lower curve of Steve's mouth. For a heartbeat, Steve is convinced Billy will kiss him to seal their deal but he doesn't, leaves him hanging and oddly enough, wanting when he instead says "I'm so sorry, baby. Let me fix that."

"I'm not your baby." Steve objects weakly and mostly out of reflex but that only earns him a light slap on the cheek.

"Oh yes, you are. Now, let me take care of you." Billy unlocks their eyes and fixes his gaze on a spot behind Steve where the living room connects to the formal dining area. A little louder than before he says, "Wilson if you'd be so kind as to prepare a bath for my guest."

Steve's heart almost stops, he snaps his head around just in time to see a gentleman in full butler attire give a polite nod and disappear into the next room.

"Was he here the whole time?!" he hissed accusingly.

"Don't worry, the white glove butler service at the Plaza is very discreet." Billy chuckles, like Steve should have known that the butler was lurking in the background.

"Are you kidding me? I don't want any witnesses to all of this! Fuck, I can't handle that right now. Send him away, Hargrove." Steve is trying to fight a mild edge of hysteria.

"Let him finish setting up the bath, first." Billy's hand finds his shoulder and gives it a squeeze meant to be reassuring.

"I don't want a bath!!" Steve bats it away with a loud smack.

"But you sure as hell need one, Harrington." Billy says, face and voice stern like he won't accept any back talk "And you need to get out of those wet clothes. Don't think you can cheat me out of our arrangement by dying of pneumonia."

"I… I didn't bring a change." Steve objects weakly.

"Don't worry. It's not like you're going to wear anything for the rest of the night, Harrington."

Steve groans. The one thing that hasn't changed in 10 years is that Hargrove is still as insufferable as he used to be.

 

 

Wilson, a British gentleman in his late 40s, is amazingly fast and efficient at his job. He reappears out of nowhere, like a phantom, within less than 15 minutes to announce that the bath is ready.

"I hope you'll enjoy our signature blend of salts, oil, and roses, Mr. Harrington." He says while escorting a red-cheeked Steve into the master bathroom.

He's a little bit horrified to see that the light in the room has been dimmed and there are candles lit around the antique clawfoot tub as well as actual rose petals floating on the water. The whole set-up is clearly meant to look romantic but to Steve, it's the prelude of a middle-aged housewife's soft porn fantasy come true. At least Careless Whisper isn't playing in the background.

"Do you require any assistance?" Wilson asks politely when Steve doesn't do anything despite standing still and staring.

"I… no, I'm fine. Thank you. Uh… you can go now?" Steve babbles, both embarrassed and increasingly nervous.

He waits until the Butler has left and then eyes the tub for a few more minutes. The air inside the washroom is heavy, filled with steam and the warm, sensual scent of the bath. The hot water becomes more and more enticing with every passing second and finally, Steve gives in and strips out of his wet clothes. They land on the brass rack meant for them with a wet sound.

Steve's skin is growing needles as he sinks into the warm water and the blood starts circulating again. But after a few moments, his limbs are thawing up and his tired body is starting to relax.

It's actually kind of nice, Steve thinks as he stretches out in the tub and sinks lower until the water comes up to his collarbones. He can't remember the last instance he had the time to enjoy a bath like this. With a small sigh, he closes his eyes and listens to his own breathing, the soft sloshing of the water and the occasional dripping on the marble tiles.

"Don't fall asleep in the bath, you'll drown."

A hand on his chin where it has dipped into the water and the rumble of Billy's voice startle Steve from a slumber he hadn't realized he'd fallen into.

He blinks up at the other man in perplexity for a few blissful seconds during which he can't remember why he's here but then instinctively jerks away from the touch, jackknifes into a sitting position, draws up his knees and hugs them to cover his nakedness.

"Jesus. You're shy now, Harrington?" Billy laughs quietly and plucks a rose petal from where it sticks to Steve's shoulder.

"You startled me." Steve defends himself not sure if the heat creeping up his neck comes from the bath alone or Billy's presence but he doesn't move out of his position.

"I saved your life, pretty boy."

While Steve was soaking Billy lost half of his suit and is now in nothing but his pants and a half-unbuttoned shirt. He still has his drink, though and takes a sip from it while sitting down at the edge of the bathtub, his gaze never leaving Steve. In the soft light of the candles, Billy's lashes are so long and so dark and his normally blue eyes have taken a greenish tint.

"Thanks, I guess." Steve says into the silence in a desperate attempt to fill it. But it comes out lame and awkward and at least a minute too late.

He hopes he's flushed enough from the bath so Billy doesn't notice he's blushing. If he does, at least he doesn't comment on it, instead holds out his glass to Steve. There is a bit more than half of the liquid in it left. After a moment of reluctance, Steve takes the offered drink.

It's a beautiful smooth cognac that slides over his tongue and down his throat like oil, leaving the taste of caramel, berries and warm earthy spices in its wake. Billy's choice of liquor comes as a bit of a surprise for Steve because he'd taken him for more of a Scotch or Bourbon kind of guy.

He's about to return the glass, licking the remnants of the spirit from his lips, when Hargrove shakes his head.

"Finish it." He says.

Steve hesitates but then he figures he's probably going to need the liquid courage, judging from the feeling of anxiety creeping further up his neck the longer Billy looks at him, naked in the tub. He knocks the drink back in one go, feels the cognac settling in his stomach and gently opening its golden petals of heat there.

Billy pries the empty glass from his fingers and sets it down next to the tub.

"Better?" he asks and something in Steve that was wound tight to the point of breaking uncoils so suddenly it pushes a sigh out of him.

Steve nods and rests his cheek on top of his knees, tiredness creeping back into his body. He watches Billy lean over to him, to touch him again he thinks first, but when Hargrove reaches out he picks up something from the small side table next to the tub.

It's a big sea wool sponge in a gauze bag and while Steve still wonders what Billy wants it for, he takes it out and dips it into the bath.

"You'll get cold again if you stay half out of the water like that." Hargrove chides and brings it up and to Steve's shoulder.

A stream of warm water comes gushing out of the sponge as he presses it against Steve's skin and pours down his back and the side of his arm. The sea wool is so soft, it feels magical when Billy sweeps it up his collarbone and after that runs it over the sensitive nape of his neck. Steve's breath hitches audibly at the intimate contact.

"That feel good?" Hargrove murmurs, his voice low and dulcet dripping into his ears like spoiled honey.

Steve shudders, unable to answer. He doesn't know what this is, he's not even completely sure he's still awake. It all seems unreal, like a beautiful nightmare made of equal parts fear and desire. He closes his eyes and listens to the light splashing when Billy dips the sponge back into the warm water.  
  
"You're as beautiful as ever. You know that, Harrington?"

The sponge glides over his other shoulder and finds the curve of his neck again. At this point, Steve is unable to keep his eyes closed. He turns his head to look at Billy again. From this angle, he can see deep inside the opening of his shirt and follow the play of golden light and deep shadows the flickering candlelight casts on his bronze skin and the hard plains of his pecs.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" the question comes out timid yet Steve realizes he doesn't mind the idea as much as he thought he would, he just has no clue what to do with it.

"Do you want me to stop?"

Steve considers it for a moment, tries to imagine what it would be like if Billy treated this like the business transaction that it is.

"No".

"What was that?" Billy's leans closer, his breath hot on Steve's face.

Steve's mind is already lulled into laziness by the hot bath, the alcohol, and the gentle touches so it takes him a second before he remembers Hargrove's rules about asking for things.

"Please don't stop." he whispers.

This time Hargrove runs the sponge over the bumps of Steve's spine all the way down to the small of his back, that's still covered by the water. When his hand comes up again, the sleeve of his shirt is soaked all the way to his elbow.

"Lean back." Billy commands.

Steve bites his lip hard enough to almost draw blood. His stomach is fluttering and his heart is beating so fast it makes him dizzy, but he obeys and slowly sinks back against the head end of the tub, keeping his knees up and pressed together.

He's incapable of looking at Billy at that moment instead lets his eyes follow the movement of the sponge as it dips into the water once more and after that kisses Steve's chest. Slowly, carefully Hargrove drags it over his sternum and then down, down along his abdomen and over his navel to where the V of his hips narrows into his crotch. Steve tries to be still, holds his breath the entire time but his muscles jump under Billy's ministration, alive to the touch.

When Hargrove pulls the sea wool away and sets it back onto the small side table, Steve suddenly feels the burning of his lungs from the lack of oxygen. He gasps for air, sucks it in too fast and too hard, lets his head fall back against the wall of the tub his mouth hanging open and panting. He feels feverish, delirious with the heat raging through his body and burning his thoughts.

Billy's hand comes to rest on one of Steve's knees, big and warm a weight of its own. His thick fingers curl around the bony joint and dive into the cleft where Steve's legs are pressed together, squeeze between them and gently pry them apart.

"Come." he says when Steve resists, not used to someone else taking control over his body "Be easy."

Hargrove's grip on his knee tightens for a second. Steve sees the muscles in his arms flex, the thick veins jumping under his skin and he's reminded of how strong the other man is, that he could just _make_ him if he wanted to.

It does something to Steve he cannot quite fathom, it's like someone has struck a match in a dark secluded part of his soul. With a loud exhale he lets his knees fall apart, spreads his legs for Billy, the warm water sloshing lazily around him in the big tub.

Billy's hand travels south, following the creamy stretch of skin on the inside of this thigh, where it's soft and tender and Steve thinks that's what it must feel like to be gently electrocuted because his skin starts prickling like there's an alternating current running underneath it. It comes to rest at the spot where his thigh meets his hip and Hargrove's thumb dips into the deep fleshy crease there, moves up and down in a simple caress until Steve's heavy breathing has evened out.

He doesn't look at his nakedness so full on display, instead locks their eyes and Steve is incredibly grateful for this scrap of mercy. Billy's eyes are firm and sure but there's a surprising gentleness to them like he's someone holding a small bird in his hand, careful not to break its wings.

When Hargrove's hand moves again, Steve still can't watch, closes his eyes and turns his head to the side, cheek pressed against the cold enamel of the bathtub. He only _feels_ Billy's fingers travel over his delicate skin and gently card through the thatch of pubic hair before he carefully touches Steve soft dick. When Steve doesn't flinch or protest he takes him in his hand, holds him close to the base for a second before he slides up his length caressing the silky skin there, slick and easy underwater.

There is something coiling in Steve's belly sweet and sickening, driving him mad, as Billy keeps stroking him and he barely manages to suppress a moan. It's by no means his first hand job and it shouldn't get him all riled up like this but he's never been touched by the hand of a man, so big and rough, making him feel owned and completely out of control. Billy doesn't stop his ministrations, his thumb circles the sensitive head of his cock a few times before he suddenly presses down and into his slit. Steve yelps, his eyes fly open with surprise, his leg gives an involuntary kick, splashes water all over the tiles of the bathroom, as a lightning bolt of pleasure shoots through him.

"Easy, baby. Easy." Billy laughs and now he does look down, watches Steve's cock fill out in his hand as all of his blood rushes south.

It happens so fast, Steve's head starts spinning from it. His hands fly up grappling Billy's biceps for balance, digging his nails in with a loud moan, when he gives him another pull.

Hargrove's free hand slides into Steve's damp hair cradles his skull and then pulls him close until his forehead is pressed against his shoulder. He keeps him there panting into the black fabric of his shirt, reduced to a whimpering mess as he strokes him to a full erection.

"Billy." Steve sobs not sure what he's trying to say because that name is the only word he can remember right now. "Billy…"

"I think you're ready, baby." Hargrove's lips brush his temple, not in a kiss just to taste, to tease. "I want you to wash yourself and then join me in the master bedroom."

And then he let's go of Steve, simply gets up without another word and walks through the door into the adjacent bedroom. He doesn't even look back at him, just leaves Steve there as he is, slack-jawed, wide-eyed and extremely turned on.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter took forever to write! Thank you for waiting I hope it was worth it!!   
> The next one will probably be a while too because this fic just does what it wants to me. But we’ll get a glimpse of Billy’s true face then. ;)  
> As always, thank you for reading. I'd love to hear from you. ^^
> 
> You can find the moodboard for this fic and my tumblr account [ HERE ](https://highon85.tumblr.com/post/175125718546/keep-the-wolves-from-the-door-harringrove)


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